Charlatans Forever

By Norman Morton

My novel is divided into two parts, or eras. The first era is set in the 1920s, and the second era in the 1960s, when computers come on the market.

My novel, or story, shows that no matter what the era, scammers and charlatans use the same tactics: lies (big and small), theft, shamelessness, and a tenaciousness in their criminal behavior that is almost incomprehensible to the average citizen. We recognize these traits in our modern-day politicians.

But what, exactly, is a charlatan?

A charlatan is perhaps more dangerous than the usual scammer because he/she believes in their products at a certain level while their rational mind rationalizes their criminal behavior and lies. Their lies and schemes easily envelope the people nearest to them. They have elevated IQs too. In essence, they can think circles around the average citizen. They have no real friends, just acquaintances that they can use.

Lastly, the \ch\ in charlatan is pronounced as \sh\.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889432951

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Charlatans Forever

Norman Morton

ISBN 979-8-88943-294-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88943-295-1 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Norman Morton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

For my Joyce

Chapter 1

August 1927, Wilkinsburg, Philadelphia

Chapter 2

November 1927

Chapter 3

The Sears, Roebuck and Company Store

Chapter 4

The Medical Establishment's Plan

Chapter 5

The Reckoning

Chapter 6

Early August 1966 (Modern Times)

Chapter 7

The Diamond Physics Laboratory

Chapter 8

Dr. Kyriazi's Love

Chapter 9

Dr. Patino's Past

Chapter 10

Dr. Samuel's Past

Chapter 11

Dr. Patino's Project

Chapter 12

The Rage of Eilleen

Chapter 13

Dr. Patino's Action Plan

Chapter 14

The Rise of Henry Coleman

Chapter 15

Dr. Kyriazi Fights Back

Chapter 16

The Galactic Cadets

Chapter 17

Flight

Chapter 18

Before the Gavel The Board of Directors of the Diamond Physics Laboratory

Chapter 19

Antigravity Brought Down to Earth

Chapter 20

Dr. Patino Rises Again

Chapter 21

A New Era

About the Author

For my Joyce

Chapter 1

August 1927, Wilkinsburg, Philadelphia

Adjusting his fifteen-jeweled watch with its fine Van Buren movement, Dr. Marillo, age thirty-seven and somewhat portly, smiled as he surveyed the new medical wonder. He knew nothing of electricity. All electrical devices, as well as the radio, functioned in ways completely mysterious to him. Even the idea of electricity traveling through a wire mystified him. And the idea of a radio wave traveling through the reaches of empty space was even more bizarre. Yet he was always intrigued and even delighted whenever he happened to see still another new electrical wonder do its tricks. He was also impressed by the genius of the unusual mechanical-engineering aspect of the electrical devices. The various links, switches, interconnecting wires, and springs were the stuff of fantasies from the far-off future. But this particular wonder of medical wonders sitting in front of him resembled a dark-brown cubic suitcase with a variety of electrical meters affixed to its outside. Under each meter was an engraved copper-plated sign that stated the amount of voltage, current, and frequency range for that particular meter. An impressive cluster of black-beige-and-white covered wires protruded from the top of the box, and each separate wire connected to a small screw under each meter. The moneymaking potential ran through his quick mind.

This enigmatic box, or organic harmonizer (as named by the brilliant electrical engineer who visited Dr. Marillo in his office only one week ago), was the most unusual device ever seen by him. When he saw a detailed drawing of the device in a magazine entitled Electrical Wonders of Our Future, he came fully awake from his usual melancholy daydreams of hordes of people worshiping him. There were three other viewings shown in the magazine. The drawings, in a way, reminded him, when as a young teenager, of the small paperback book entitled How to Mold Your Mighty Muscles, written by a bodybuilder. The muscle pictures had seemed a bit gaudy to him. But these different views of this electrical wonder, the organic harmonizer, captured his spirit in an instant. Quickly he had drafted a congratulatory letter to the inventor, and to his delight, a reply had come back a week later. The inventor had made astonishing claims about his invention in his letter. So Dr. Marillo had invited the inventor to his home. The inventor had come.

He sat enraptured as the engineer, who promptly proclaimed himself a genius, explained its properties. Dr. Marillo was truly mesmerized by its unlimited potential to make money (as pointed out by the inventor) and, more importantly, provide him with the lasting fame and real wealth that he knew he deserved.

Dr. Marillo had sought after fame all his life. He found out in his youth that fame brought respect. If you had lots of money, they would respect you. If you came from a well-known family, they would respect you. If you achieved something notable—like winning a footrace, lifting more weight than any other person, or flying higher than any other person—they would respect you.

But he came from an ordinary family with ordinary expectations. Hence, no one respected his name, much less him as a person. But he was industrious and always tried to figure the angles to get ahead. He was, he thought, fast of mind. He wasn't fast on his feet nor strong of body. He was also afraid of heights, which omitted flying on airplanes. Someone called it acrophobia. His family—and therefore himself—was poor. He hated it. His father was in and out of jail. Apparently, his father was a salesman of sorts. His mother was never too clear on this point. He had been told that his father sold health potions and called himself Dr. Robert Marillo, esquire. He never knew what the esquire meant. He did understand when the policemen came to take his father to jail for a long time. He had asked his mother, When will Daddy come home from jail? Will it be soon?

Softly she had replied, Your father's health potions made some people die. And now a lot of people are very angry at him.

After many years of not seeing his father, his mother, who by now appeared to be very old and very sad, had told him that his father had died in jail. For himself, he had no feelings toward his father. It was as if he had been told that the miners had once more gone on strike. It had no impact on him.

But a landmark chance meeting one humid summer long ago when he was about fourteen years old did have a big impact on him. His uncle Percy had paid the family another one of his rare visits. No one had seen him for several years. His mother had hinted that Uncle Percy had been in jail all these long years for fooling people, just like his father had done many years ago. She had referred to Uncle Percy as a lying wretch of a man. Uncle Percy was as loud as he was big. He towered over his mother and had a distinct beer belly, as his mother had called it. He smelled of whiskey or something like that. He had greeted his mother by picking her straight up in the air and hollering, Hi, little sis!

After he had been well fed, Uncle Percy had slumped into the rocking chair near the fireplace.

He had proceeded to smoke a large cigar, which had sent up clouds of bluish-white smoke. He had seemed to be always thinking or perhaps scheming.

Yes, he would say, there's always a way to make money.

But quite young and dumb, he had loved to hear Uncle Percy talk of money and his great travels.

Yes, it's real easy. Just give 'em what they think they want.

What can I give, Uncle Percy? he had said innocently.

Don't fill the boy's head with nonsense, scolded his mother.

Uncle Percy had laughed as usual. He had that peculiar way of laughing off unpleasantness or an accusation. He had continued, Every hear of a dowser?

What's that, Uncle Percy? It had sounded to him like a miracle thing.

It can find water, my boy. Now, everybody wants a well nearby, right?

Goodness, fumed his mother.

Uncle Percy had laughed. And people will pay good money for water.

Everybody knows it doesn't work, injected his mother.

Immaterial, said Uncle Percy. Immaterial.

And why? she challenged.

Because for every ten unbelievers, there's one who believes. It can mean lots of money if it's done right. He had added, Just backwoods people.

Do what right? he had asked innocently.

Uncle Percy had laughed again. He had blown a very large cloud of smoke across their small room. He also had a rasping cough at times.

My word, said his mother. Whenever she couldn't understand a thing or was incredulous, she'd just say, My word.

You can help the situation, you see, said Uncle Percy.

Help?

Yes, my boy. Help the situation. For instance, you can put some water under the ground in a certain area. Then you take your dowsing stick and go looking for water. Yep. All over. Just looking and looking while the suckers follow you. Then all of a sudden!

What? What, Uncle Percy?

Your dowser points to the ground. Uncle Percy had laughed out loud.

He, a small boy, still had not understood.

What does it point to, Uncle Percy? Rocks?

He had laughed again. No, not rocks. It's where the water is. Then you start digging, see? And after a while, your shovel looks wet. The suckers' eyes will all widen. So you dig some more. Then the shovel's really dripping wet. He had laughed out loud this time. Yeah, it works every time! And you charge a fee for finding water on the property.

What are suckers, Uncle Percy?

Why, my boy, suckers are the unwitting clients who will give you money.

And how many times have you gotten arrested for that fooling? scolded his mother.

It happens to the best of us. Uncle Percy had grinned.

Yeah, he said, you can make lots of money. Just give 'em what they want.

Just give 'em what they think they want. Another loud, long laugh had been followed by a muted cough.

My word, said his mother, shaking her head. She had walked away.

That incident always remained in his young mind, even while growing up.

He had many ideas for making money as a young man, but nothing worked out to his satisfaction. Honesty certainly brought him nothing, he found. He saw many dishonest men who were very wealthy. Many bragged about their ill-gained wealth. And most of the medical men he encountered were wealthy and even bragged of fleecing their patients out of extra money for unneeded tests.

He thought that the medical establishment would bring him money and give him real respect too. So after he had completed high school, he had worked very hard to get the money for the local college. He had hung on for two years before he had decided to give up the academia in college and enroll in the nearby medical school.

He had lied about his college credentials, and he had paid a very bright student to take the entrance exam for him in the gigantic auditorium of the medical school.

He had quickly ascertained that the overworked medical staff were far too busy to check up on one's background anyway. So once formally enrolled, he earned extra money by substituting for the tired or lazy medical students who were two or three years above him in rank; he had done ambulance duties for them. He had quickly found that he hated to see bloodied people, especially the victims of a bar fight, a train accident, or a domestic stabbing. The human carnage never stopped. But he had made sure to attend every lecture, boring or not. He had unlimited patience.

But his Waterloo had come when he watched an actual operation for the first time.

He had immediately known that surgical procedures were not for him. Also, he now became nauseated at the sight of blood. A fellow student had labeled him as a hematophobic. He had been ridiculed for being so fickle.

Obviously, then, a surgical career was out of the question. So he had taken the alternate route of medical research. But here, too, he had stumbled badly. He really hated biology and had no patience for lab work and no real interest in dealing with sick people. In fact, he avoided sick people with their lesions, warts, bleeding limbs, and stomachaches. So unless he invented something useful that no one else before him had, he knew that he would forever be struggling or, even worse, permanently poor.

He had a plethora of ideas for medical devices, but his engineering skills had been below that required to produce workable models. He had floundered at every step.

Three years had passed. The medical establishment for which he had labored had kept him on only because he had been a hard worker and had not bothered no one. But eventually, the medical school had encouraged him to leave. A week later, in the secrecy of a back room of a Printer for whom he had paid handsomely, he had made his own medical certificate of graduation, which proclaimed him to be a licensed medical doctor. So he had become Dr. Alvin Marillo in spite of the snobbishness and the unfairness of the medical school. Clutching the certificate, he had felt ever so better. Now he could do great things.

So now, these many years later, after selling wheelchairs, crutches, walkers, and so forth at exorbitant prices, Dr. Marillo interrupted the electrical genius long enough to call into the office area his lab assistant, a fellow worker for the medical records department of the public hospital and fellow experimenter in his spare time, Dr. Rogaine. Dr. Rogaine, who was forty-two and quite thin, towered above him. He had good electrical skills, which might prove useful in the future.

Dr. Rogaine often complained of a chest pain when he got unduly excited.

Even when he laughed, his huge mound of hair would slide around on his head like ebony-colored sand dunes.

Dr. Marillo always felt better having Dr. Rogaine at his side and felt comradeship with him since he intrinsically knew that Dr. Rogaine had also forged his credentials.

He never asked him personal questions despite the fact that Dr. Rogaine had no social life and no girlfriend, just like himself—especially a partner who never disputed him, much less questioned his ideas. They were a good team, he often mused.

So now they both carefully listened as the engineer droned on, both their minds enraptured by the moneymaking possibilities. The engineer carefully explained its curative powers through the process of radiating the internal organs with harmonic radio waves tuned to the inherent bodily frequency of the affected organ. Each organ, he explained, had its own particular frequency.

By simply varying the harmonic frequencies, said the engineer with sparkling eyes and animated arm swings, "any diseased organ can be made to shake off its diseased outer cells. Thus, the patient would be cured without the need for painful surgery or prolonged consumption of expensive medicines. Think of the possibilities, gentlemen!

And what's more, I'll gladly give you the device at the unheard-of discount of 60 percent since I am traveling to Havana, Cuba, in a few days, and I do need the money. For you, very smart and esteemed gentlemen, it's only one thousand dollars.

Drs. Marillo and Rogaine had scarcely one hundred dollars between them.

Dr. Marillo, without a hint of concern, said, You'll have it tomorrow.

I tell you, it's a medical triumph, said the engineer. It's a fantastic moneymaker, he added. It will make you famous, almost shouted the engineer, now waving his arms again. I'm on my way to Cuba, as I said, to take up permanent residence with my sick aunt. It will cost me a fortune to care for her. Therefore, my esteemed gentlemen, I am willing to part with my creation of a lifetime for the sum of only one thousand dollars. I leave in two days. You must make up your minds by then. You can find me at my current address, but I must warn you that I'll be leaving in two days. It cannot be altered.

The electrical engineering genius, who was partly bald and wore unusually large spectacles but had almost child-sized hands, picked up his organic harmonizer with the aid of a moving cart and, with some huffing and puffing, left the lab. Dr. Marillo visibly shook after he went out the door. He had no real money to purchase such a device. He had no established credit and no rich or important friends.

Dr. Rogaine worked for free to acquire his experience in developing medical devices such as artificial legs as well as specialty shoes for bad feet, novel rocking chairs, and so forth.

Well, said Dr. Marillo, we do want it. It's the most fantastic thing I've ever seen. But don't worry. We'll get the money.

They both worried.

What if he sold the device to someone else?

What if the man simply disappeared forever? After all, the man was a genius.

Unknown to them, the engineer had become aware of an arrest warrant out for him, and he needed some quick money to quickly leave town in no more than two days from now, before his various hiding places would be discovered by the detectives.

What can we do? worried Dr. Rogaine.

Go to the bank tomorrow morning.

We have no credit, worried Dr. Rogaine.

Maybe we can offer the bank president shares.

A good idea, Dr. Rogaine hopefully declared.

We could even offer him a partnership.

A great idea, Dr. Rogaine hopefully declared again.

We'll say that his personal wealth can be doubled.

It can be doubled, Dr. Rogaine echoed. He felt a tug in his chest. He pushed his mane of hair back in place.

Dr. Marillo added, Seeing is believing. So we need the organic harmonizer back. I'll go to the engineer later on tonight and borrow the thing for a demonstration to the bank president, Stidwell. Dr. Marillo stood perfectly still, brooding about his fate. He had to admit that his life was a poor one. He had no wife, no children, and no relatives who were interested in him. But he did have lots of ideas for revolutionizing the medical treatment of all kinds of glandular ailments. No medical journal would publish his ideas, however. He was painfully aware that Professor Armistead, head of the medical college, had poisoned the medical community against him with his snide remarks. The professor often used him as the butt of his jokes at dinner parties. And Professor Armistead never ceased to mention to anyone who would listen that he, Dr. Marillo, had almost graduated last in his class except that he left in the nick of time!

Sighing, he often thought of his modest $1,500 home. But just three blocks from his home, the upper crust lived in $25,000 homes. He vowed that someday he would own such a home. He'd show the disrespecting bastards who sneered at him.

All he needed was a break. His annual salary, from his various ventures into medical devices, was nearly $1,100—hardly enough to hobnob with his richer neighbors.

He sighed as he waved Dr. Rogaine good night.

See you at Stidwell's bank in the morning. Let's make it nine fifteen.

Dr. Rogaine grunted his assent.

The next morning, they faced Henry Stidwell, president of Stidwell First Banking, who sat stone-faced. He had lived in Wilkinsburg his entire life. He had grown up with tried-and-true businessmen. His life was a very conservative one. As such, he distrusted men with wild ideas. And now this Dr. Marillo and this Dr. Rogaine were worrying him. Especially, Henry Stidwell distrusted medical men, and he never understood scientists. He compared them to spooks and magicians. They never talked in a straightforward manner.

Henry Stidwell found himself looking at his dresser clock for comfort. Its oval-shaped dial always pleased him. Whenever he was anxious, he would fixate on his clock.

The medical establishment, said Dr. Marillo, already knows of this device, but they steadfastly refuse to use it, much less acknowledge its existence. They fear that their grip on their financial holdings will fall away. They want no part of this wonder tool. Dr. Marillo beamed. Hence, I've come here to talk to a man of vision.

Henry Stidwell glanced once more at his clock. He had hoped that this meeting wouldn't last too long. He was anxious to turn on his brand-new six-tube Silvertone radio receiver. The tonal qualities of the speaker device were simply marvelous. Henry Stidwell tried to look blank. He wondered why he even consented to this crazy meeting.

Look, said Dr. Marillo, let me show you something. With a slight assist from Dr. Rogaine, he lifted from his doctor's briefcase an enclosed fluid-filled jar containing a human kidney that was horribly diseased.

Henry Stidwell looked sick as